


Catch Me When I Fall (Or Did I Dive At Your Delight)

by supermatique



Series: The Kind of Trouble [2]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermatique/pseuds/supermatique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude.  The guilt is a migraine that doesn't leave her for days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me When I Fall (Or Did I Dive At Your Delight)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Jock's comment on my previous work, The Kind of Trouble You Can Taste. Set between 1x06 and 1x07.

The Saturday is one of sunshine and relative calm, compared to the high-thirty bake-fests Melbourne has been having lately. Sylvia calls Erica in the morning and ropes her into a run. 

“We need to hang out!” Sylvia bellows down the phone, and Erica has to laugh at her friend's enthusiasm despite the early hour. 

“All right, all right, come pick me up.” 

“Car's in the shop. Drive yourself,” Sylvia replies, and hangs up before Erica has the chance to protest. 

Erica chuckles despite herself, and adds more grounds to the coffee-maker before setting it on brew. Looks like she'll need the extra kick today. 

-

She used to hit the gym at least three times a week, but that schedule has been shot to hell since her promotion to Governor. She can still run a decent distance, but she is definitely not prepared for the kind of run that Sylvia had in mind when they head out. Totalling almost ten kilometres around three separate parks, Erica wonders about her life choice in this particular friend.

Even after two kids, Sylvia runs circles around Erica – literally. “Come on, you're such a fatty!” she goads Erica, jogging backwards as Erica struggles to keep up. “Ricky runs faster than you.” 

Erica makes a face. “Ricky can't even walk.”

“My point exactly.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Erica groans, almost stumbling into Sylvia when they stop at the edge of the park. “This is ridiculous,” she huffs in between struggling for breath. “Why can't I ever say no to you?”

“You're ridiculous. You can't tell me you've kept that figure without any work at all,” Sylvia remarks. “When was the last time you did any exercise?”

Erica thinks of her dreams, of Franky undressing her slowly, kissing the curve of Erica's neck as she slips Erica's blouse off her shoulder. _Do marathon masturbation sessions count as exercise?_

“Let's get this torture over with,” she says instead, and sprints away before Sylvia can say anything more.

-

Mark had accompanied her to Sylvia and Luke's, a sprawling three-bedroom-two-bathroom affair with an equally sprawling backyard. When she and Sylvia return from their fight against death-by-wheeze, it is to find Luke over the barbeque fixing up the gas bottle, and Mark standing over his shoulder, Heineken in hand. 

“We thought we'd make burgers for lunch,” Mark says, coming over to hug and kiss Erica on the cheek. “Good run?” 

“Ricky runs faster,” Sylvia answers for her. Erica rolls her eyes.

Mark frowns and peers into the lounge, where the nine-month old is tossing building blocks at his older sister in the playpen. “He's not walking yet, is he?”

“Nope,” Sylvia says, and brushes past them and over to Luke, who is still fiddling with the gas. “Hi, hon,” she says, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck and kissing him thoroughly on the lips. “Kids okay?” 

“Yeah, babe,” Luke says. He turns the gas on and fires up the barbeque, dusting his hands on his shorts as he turns to Erica. “You're alive!” he exclaims, opening his arms wide and enveloping Erica in a strong hug. “You've been hiding out in that new prison of yours.”

Erica scoffs. “It's not a new prison. I'm not hiding anywhere,” she says, even as a prickle of guilt springs up at the back of her neck. She rubs at it, and the action recalls a dream: Franky pushing her up against the wall of her office, one hand around Erica's waist and another wrapped around her neck. Franky had crushed her, left bruises on her skin, smirked as Erica whimpered her orgasm. 

“If you say so,” Luke winks, and points at the esky by his feet. “Beer? Wine? You look like you could use a drink.” Erica looks up at him sharply. “Keeping up with my wife is a tiring activity.”

Erica manages to laugh. “Yeah. I think I'll have a shower first, though.” 

“Okay. You know the way. Towels are in the hot water cupboard on your left.”

-

Watching Mark chase after Ruby, the two-year-old squealing in delight when Mark scoops her up and swings her around in dizzying circles, Erica feels the guilt crawl at her skin again. They don't talk about it, just like they don't talk about their engagement or work or anything apart from _what do you want for dinner_ and _don't, your feet are cold_ , but she knows that Mark wants children someday.

She knows with an almost vehement certainty that she will never fulfill that want. How did they end up like this? There's a desperation within her that yearns to know, closely followed by the misery of hopelessness as she realises that, out of all the battles she's chosen to fight in her life, this was probably the one she should have stood for the most.

_Vanilla Mark. Sylvia, you were so right; why were you so right and why couldn't I see it?_

Sylvia plonks down on the deck chair next to hers, brandishing a bottle of sav. “Refill?”

Erica considers her half-empty glass. “Why not.” 

“That's my girl,” Sylvia grins, filling Erica's glass nearly to the brim. She puts the bottle down on the ground and watches Mark and Ruby play for a little while. Then, she says, “You look tired. Everything all right?” 

Erica puts on a smile. “Yeah. Wouldn't you be if you ran ten K this morning?”

Sylvia laughs and shrugs, but when she holds her wine glass in her lap she stares hard at Erica. “I don't mean that kind of tired. What's going on with you and Mark?”

Erica touches her neck, looks away. “Nothing's going on, what––”

“He's not going to make a habit of sleeping on my couch, is he?”

Erica shuts her eyes for a moment and sighs, dropping her hand. “No, he's not. I'm sorry about that.” 

“What for? He showed himself the door.” 

“Hmm,” is all Erica is willing to say. Her heart beats faster as she wonders how much Sylvia knows, wonders if Sylvia remembers what they did that night all those years ago with as much clarity as she does. If Sylvia has any idea how much Erica wants to rewind the last eleven years to the day she called her new boyfriend “Vanilla Mark” so she can start over again. If she dares to tell Sylvia about Franky, about the dreams, about how she's wronged this prisoner she somehow feels so much for, about how she doesn't know who she is any more and if she can stand the possibility of revealing her true self.

“Hey,” Sylvia says softly, nudging Erica's shoulder. She smiles at Erica, so gently and full of understanding that Erica remembers why they're friends in the first place. “He told Luke what happened. Luke told me. So what's going on?”

Erica closes her eyes again, listens to her heart pound in her ears. She tilts her face into the sun and drinks in the way her world turns red, wills the heat to consume her. “I just – I wanted to try something different. It didn't work out. That's it.” 

When she opens her eyes, Sylvia is watching her. 

“I remember that night, you know,” Sylvia says, and Erica glances over at where Mark was playing with Ruby, but he's not there. 

She turns around and finds him standing at the kitchen sink, helping Luke dry the dishes. As if he can feel Erica's gaze, Mark looks up at that very moment, and smiles at her when their eyes meet. The guilt snarls at her, and she quickly turns away. 

“Erica.”

“Yeah,” she gasps, barely able to breathe. 

“It's okay to want more,” Sylvia tells her, and Erica bursts into tears.

-

They don't talk about it when they get home. 

That night, she puts off sleep for as long as she can, but it comes eventually, stealthily just like the way Franky has slipped beneath her skin and settled into the blood thrumming in her veins.

It's Franky who cradles her, who tells her it's okay to want more. “Right conduct controls the greater one,” she whispers in Erica's ear right before she lets Erica come. 

The guilt is a migraine that doesn't leave her for days.

 

END


End file.
